


spanks for the memories

by mwestbelle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday Spanking, Bucky Barnes Birthday Spankathon, Crying, Dirty Talk, M/M, Paddling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky turns 92 today. That's a lot of spanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spanks for the memories

**Author's Note:**

> Paraxdisepink suggested that everyone should spank Bucky, in honor of his birthday. I can never turn down spanking.
> 
> Title is because I'm the worst person possibly ever.

The whole thing is Tony Stark's fault, which isn't something Bucky ever thought he'd say about his sex life.

"So wait," Tony says. He's been fiddling with a circuit board while the rest of them have been talking, but now he looks up and squints accusingly at Bucky. "You're like...90 years old now, aren't you?"

"92, or so they tell me." Bucky shrugs, raising his beer in a mock toast. 

"That's insane." Tony shakes his head, going back to his toolbox to dig around. "That's so many spanks."

Everyone chuckles, except for Steve. Steve's not laughing. He's not smiling. Steve is giving him a look that makes his mouth go dry and his dick twitch in his jeans like he's some dumb horny kid again. Steve's always brought that out in him, from the time they actually were horny kids together and now, apparently, into their nineties.

And that's how he finds himself bent over Steve's desk, braced on his elbows, feet spread and ass stinging.

"There's only one rule, soldier," Steve had said while he tugged Bucky's pants down with sharp precision. "You keep count. You lose count, then I lose count, and we have to start over again."

"Yessir," Bucky said. At the time, it had seemed like a simple and sensible rule.

The first ten are with Steve's hand. He doesn't pull out the full Captain America Whallop on him or anything, but they aren't love taps either. The crack of skin on skin echoes through the room, followed by a number. Bucky's voice is clean and clear, a little cocky. He shouts out each number, like he's counting off pushups, and wriggles his ass between hits.

Eleven is with the paddle. Bucky's not expecting it, the smack of unyielding wood so different from Steve's hand, and he yelps instead of sounding off.

"What's your number, soldier?" Steve's voice is harsh but not raised.

Bucky closes his eyes. "Eleven."

"That's your one fuck-up." He can hear Steve shift his weight, lining up the next swing, and he knows this one is going to be harder. "Next time, we start over."

"Yessir." The paddle is entirely different; sounds different, feels different, and by forty his skin feels hot and sore. He's not even halfway through.

After forty, Steve switches back to his hand, for ten this time, and then back to the paddle. It makes it impossible for Bucky to get into a decent rhythm and anticipate the hits. Every time he feels like he's starting to adjust, Steve changes implements again. The bastard really thought this out, and there are tears stinging in his eyes when they finally reach eighty. His dick is also rock hard, swollen between his legs, but he knows better than to try to seek any kind of relief.

"Almost done," Steve says. The words could sound soothing, but Steve says it like he's disappointed. Like maybe he'll just keep going if he feels like it, to one hundred and beyond.

Bucky whimpers, and his voice cracks on, "Eighty-one."

"Look at you," Steve grunts.

"Eighty-two."

"You look so good like this."

"Eighty-three."

"Ass so red and raw for me. I want to see you like this every day, soldier."

"Eighty-four."

"They'd all watch you mince around the tower, and I'd be the only one who knew--"

"Eighty-five."

"--that your ass was on fire underneath it."

"Eighty-six." It's so hard to keep his count going, when his mind wants to rebel and take him far away from the pain. He can feel it all the way up his spine and down to his knees, the ache setting in deep. The tears are starting to leak from the corners of his eyes, running down his cheeks without his permission. He tries to keep it in, but he knows he's undone when he gasps out, "Eighty-seven."

"You crying, soldier?" The paddle whistles through the air when Steve swings it before bringing it down on him again. "Does this hurt?"

"Eighty-eight," Bucky says. He can't answer, can't think of anything but the numbers, because if he loses count he's not going to make it. He can't take this all over again, not when he's so close. The numbers have forced him to stay present through this whole thing, and he's going to cling to them until they seem him through.

"Next time--"

"Eight-nine."

"--you won't be allowed to cry. Every tear is going to get you another ten, what do you think of that?"

"Ninety."

"Another ten, and then another, until it seems like I'm just going to have to spank you forever."

"Ninety-one."

"And you'll fucking _love_ it."

"Ninety-two." Bucky's legs wobble, but Steve is there in an instant, on his knees behind him with hands holding his hips tight, holding him up.

"You're so good, Buck," Steve moans, muffled. He nuzzles at Bucky's poor abused ass, licking over the marks he left. Compared to his burning ass, Steve's tongue feels cool. 

Steve's down there for a while, worshiping him, and Bucky needs the time to recover. Finally, he manages to growl, "Get up here." His voice is wrecked; Steve obeys in an instant. "You gotta hold me up."

Steve carefully complies, turning Bucky around in his arms, so Bucky can get his dick against Steve's thigh. He moans as he ruts against him, each movement causing the muscles in his ass to clench and twinge. Steve reaches down and almost tentatively strokes over the curve of his ass, following the marks that Bucky can't see. It fucking hurts, and he comes so hard he blacks out a little bit.

He's mostly conscious when Steve picks him up -- because Steve can _do that_ , apparently -- and carries him to bed, but he's got no interest in moving. Steve lays him down on his side, then pads off to the bathroom while Bucky rolls onto his stomach and gets himself settled.

Steve huffs like an annoyed mother hen when he gets back, and there's the clink of a glass being set on the nightstand. "I brought you water." Aspirin won't do any good for either of them, so the water is more of a gesture. Bucky grunts and shakes his head.

"M'fine. Get in here."

He flinches when Steve's weight makes the bed shift, but soon it's over and he's blissfully stretched out, enjoying the faint throb of pain in his ass.

They just lie there for a moment, until Steve says, quietly, "Happy birthday, Buck."

"Thanks." Bucky closes his eyes and smiles. "We should get a ruler for next year."

Steve snorts. "Were you picturing Sister Ignatius this whole time? I'm offended."

"Can't help what I like," Bucky says, breezy, but he leans until he finds part of Steve's body and kisses it softly. "Really. Thanks."

He doesn't have to open his eyes; he can hear the smile in Steve's voice. "Anything for the birthday boy."

**Author's Note:**

> Come party with me on [tumblr](http://villainsexuale.tumblr.com)!


End file.
